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UNITED STATES OF A-HERICA. 1 



ODES IN OHIO 



IDYLS AND LYRICS OF THE OHIO VALLEY. 
One vol. 8vo, gik top, $1.25. 

LITTLE NEW-WORLD IDYLS, AND OTHER 
POEMS. One voL 8vo, gilt top, $1.25. 

THE GHOST'S ENTRY, AND OTHER POEMS. 
One vol. 8vo, $1.25. 

"Ptaii is the Poetic Voice of Ohio.^'' — ^PCiKKa 
Taylor. 



ODES IN OHIO, AND OTHER 
POEMS 



BY 

JOHN JAMES PIATT 

AUTHOR OF "idyls AND LYRICS OF THE OHIO VALLEY," ETC 



%^ 






CINCINNATI 

THE ROBERT CLARKE COMPANY 

1897 






Copyright, "1897, 
By. JOHN JAMES PIATT. 

All rights reserved. 



TO MY FRIEND 

DR. A. W. WHELPLEY 

LIBRARIAN OF THE PUBLIC LIBRARY 
OF CINCINNATI 



CONTENTS 

PAGB 

Ode for the Cleveland Centennial Celebration . . i 

Ode for the Opening of the Cincinnati Music Hall . i6 

From an Ohio Valley Veteran 22 

The Boys in Blue 28 

The Old Piano's Player 30 

Jenny's Way to Honor 32 

Half-Lives 35 

A Boy on Gambier Hill 37 

Clio in the Capitol 41 

Anarchy 43 

j An Angel with a Broom 45 

Otho in the Tomb of Charlemagne 47 

Purpose 48 

To My Father 49 

The Old Woodman's Axe 51 

Feudal Tenure 52 

Ireland : A Seaside Portrait 53 

I 



ODE 

WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF THE ONE HUNDREDTH 
ANNIVERSARY OF THE FOUNDING OF THE CITY OF CLEVE- 
LAND AND THE SETTLEMENT OF THE WESTERN RESERVE 
IN OHIO : READ ON THE OCCASION OF THE CELEBRA- 
TION AT CLEVELAND, JULY 2 2, 1 896 



13RAISE to the sower of the seed, 

The planter of the tree ! — 
What though another for the harvest gold 
The ready sickle hold, 
Or breathe the blossom, watch the fruit unfold ? 

Enough for him, indeed, 
That he should plant the tree, should sow the seed, 
And earn the reaper's guerdon, even if he 

Should not the reaper be : 
*' Let him who after a while, when I shall pass, may 

dwell 
In my sweet close, 'neath my dear roof instead, 
Enjoy the harvest, pluck the fruit as well, 



2 ODE FOR THE 

Though I myself be dead, — 
For every other man is other me." 

II 

And praise be theirs who plan 

And fix the corner-stone 
Of house or fane devote to God or man, 

Not for themselves alone. 

— Not for themselves alone 
The Pilgrim Fathers of the Western Wood, 
Not only for themselves and for their own, 
Came hither planting in heroic mood 
The seeds of civil-graced society, 
Repeating their New England by the sea 

In the green wilderness. 
From church and school, with church and school 

they came 
To kindle here their consecrated flame : 
With the high passion for humanity, 
The largest light, the amplest liberty, 
(No man a slave, unless himself enthrall,) 



CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL 3 

The key of knowledge in the door of Truth 

For eager-seeking youth, 
With priceless opportunity for all, 
(The tree of knowledge no forbidden tree,) — 

Free speech and conscience free. 

— Honor and praise no less 
Be theirs, who in the mighty forest, then 

The haunt of savage men, 
And tenanted by ravening beasts of prey 

Only less fierce than they, 
(The fever-chill, the hunger-pang they bore, 
Dangers of day and darkness at their door) 
Abode, and in the panther-startled shade 
The deep foundations of an empire laid. 

The corner-stone they put 
(Where he the patriot sage,^ with foresight keen. 
Its fittest site on some vague chart had seen) 

Of the fair Place we know — 
Their capital of New Connecticut. 

1 It appears that Dr. Benjamin Franklin, as early as 1754, had in- 
dicated the mouth of the Cuyahoga, on Lake Erie, as an eligible 
site for a future commercial and maritime city. 



4 ODE FOR THE 

III 

In the green solitude, 

A hundred years ago, 
The founder stood. 
Hark, the first axe-stroke in the clearing ! Lo, 
The log house with its civilizing gleam 

By yonder Indian stream ! — 
Such was the small beginning far away 

We celebrate to-day. 

IV 

There were two prophecies. He the founder, he 
Whose statue stands in yonder public square, 

(He only came and went : 
The city itself is his best monument,) 

That lonely evening gleam, 

Reflected heavenly fair 

In the still Indian stream, 

He saw, and prophesied, 

With home-returning eyes: 
A peaceful forest-shadowed town should rise, 



CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL 5 

Here by this azure Inland Sea, 
With clustered church-spires, happy roofs half seen 
Through leafy avenues of ambush green, 
And school-house belfry — such he erewhile knew, 
And the fond picture homesick memory drew. 
In far New England by the Atlantic tide. 
It was not long before the prophecy 

Had grown reality : 
That Forest City seemed a haven of rest — 

New Haven of the West. 
Another later came, in dreamful mood, 
Where the tree-shadowed early village stood, 
Who saw the flitting sails, the horizon-bound 
Of the great Inland Sea before 
Its open harbor door. 
With the broad wealth-abundant land around; 
(What wealth above of corn and fleece and vine ! — 
What wealth beneath of myriad-gifted mine !) 
To him another vision : prophet-wise. 
With prescient eyes, 
A great commercial mart he saw arise. 



6 ODE FOR THE 

With arms outstretching over land and sea, 
And linking continent to continent 
With bands of gold beneficent ; 
The smoke of steamers, plying ceaselessly, 
Bearing our harvest stores to far-off hands 

In transatlantic lands ; 
With interchange of goods and gifts divine 

In rivalry benign, 
Lo, peaceful navies, alien with our own ! 
The foundry's plume of fire, a dreadful flower, 

He saw, at midnight hour. 
With ears that heard, as eyes that saw, the fore- 
known, 
He heard the hum of mighty industries, — 
The vulcanic forge's echoing clang of steel, 

The whirring wheel, 
With other myriad sounds akin to these ; 
And up and down, and everywhere, the beat 

Of busy-moving feet, — 
In thronged thoroughfares of Trade apart. 
The throbbing of the Titan Labor's heart. — 



CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL 7 

He saw and heard : a transient shadow he, 

But lo, the prophecy ! 
The Genie's dream-built tower, in morning's ray, 
In fable-world it shone — the City stands to-day ! 

V 

Whoever backward looks shall see 

What wonder-working strange 

Of ever-moving change ! 

Lo, everywhere around we meet, 

In every highway, every street. 
New daily miracles of the century ! 
The harnessed elements, with that elusive sprite. 
The errand-running Slave, with world-compelling 

might, 
Obedient to man, and hurrying to and fro. 
Wherever he would send, wherever wish to go ! 

In every house at night 

The enchanted lamp alight, 

In each frequented way 

Its keen celestial ray, — 



8 ODE FOR THE 

New wonders of a new world, they rise from day to 
day; 
And all repeated, all reflected show 

In the fair Place we know ! . . . 

— A sigh for their sad fate, 

For those red tribes, so late 
Tenants-at-will of their vast hunting-ground, 

That had nor mete nor bound 

In the deep wood around. 

Him, lord the forest knew, 
On Cuyahoga's stream where glides his bark canoe ? 
We have not banished quite their names from 

stream and wood, 
We cannot banish quite their ghosts that will intrude ; 

We cannot exorcise 

Their still reproachful eyes. ' 

Pity we must their fate — 

The inexorable doom 

That gave our fathers room ; — 

That they must fade. 

Shadow-like, into shade. 
So we might celebrate the city's founding here : 



CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL 

That they must disappear, 

So we might celebrate 
Their mighty wilderness our mighty State, 
Among the brightest of her galaxy, 
(With New Connecticut her chiefest pride,) 
Mother of famous soldiers, statesmen tried, 
(New Mother of Presidents, her well-beloved, 

In camp and council proved.) . . . 
— One time an alien fleet was hovering near, 
(Let us be strong, and well protect our own !) 
When on yon shore the school-boy at his play 

Stooped down with hand at ear 

By the lake-side to hear 

The guns at Put-in Bay. 
War summoned then and since again her sons. 
(City and State, with common sympathies. 

Unite in claiming these.) 

Her Past is bitter-sweet. 
Heroic grief, heroic gladness meet, 
With memories proud in monumental stone. 

In civic square and street : 
Of him that hero of an earlier day ; 



10 ODE FOR THE 

Of those her later, now her aureoled ones, 

Her eager youth who went 
To battle as to tennis tournament, 

Not for themselves alone, 
Not only for themselves and for their own — 

For all men, us and ours ! 
Returning but in sacred memories. 
That ever green are kept and sweet with flowers ; 
Of him the kindly neighbor, cordial friend, 
(Now far uplifted from familiar ways, 
Blameless and high above the stain of praise,) 
Down-stricken at the Helm of Highest Trust. 

(She keeps his honored dust.) 
And many another worthy even as they. 
Banded to sweep the nightmare dark and dire, 
If with cyclonic broom — with earthquake, flood, 
and fire — 

From our great land away ! ^ . . . 

— Old griefs and glories blend. 

1 Commodore Perry, the soldiers of the Union army from Cleve- 
land, President Garfield, and the antislavery leaders and agitators of 
the Western Reserve are referred to in the foregoing passage. 



CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL II 

VI 

Into the Future — who shall look 

Into that cloud-clasped Book ? 

What strong miraculous spark 

Shall pierce that deep-walled dark ? 
Whoever forward looks shall see, 
Mayhap, a vision, an enthusiast's dream, 
Of this or of another century, — 
The flower of each together here as one 

Blossoming in the sun. 
Whoever looks shall see, reflected there, 
The features of her Past, oh, not less fair ; 
The features of her Present, even more bright: 

A city that shall seem 
To bear aloft and hold a steadfast light : 
With ampler domes of Science, Learning, Art, 

In academic groves apart : 
Earth-blessing commerce at her every door. 
With sails that come and go forevermore : 
The earthly Titan's sweltering toil made light 
By the invisible heaven-descended might, 



12 ODE FOR THE 

Goodf ellow or frolic sprite : 
With myriad mechanisms faery-nice, 
Beneficent art and dehcate artifice, — 
All human goods and graces priceless wrought 

In every house for nought 

But a mere wish or thought : 

The enchanted statue's grace 

In every market-place, — 

But Nature breathing ever, everywhere, 
Her breath from flower and leaf, from park and pas- 
ture fair : 
Streets that are highways to green fields and woods, 

With charmed solitudes. 

Whither the workman pent 

Flies from his toil, content : 

With hanging gardens of delight 

For all men's sense and sight. 
Where they may see the dancing fountain's flower, 
Faerily silvered, wavering in the moon, 
And hear the wild bird sing his vesper hymn in 
June, 



CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL 13 

Through the still twilight hour. . . . 

— In that bright city then, 
Himself one of a myriad multitude, 

Shall the Good Citizen, 

Who loves his fellow-men. 
Who makes self-interest work for common good, 
Dwell, and make beautiful his dwelling-place, 
Striving to keep his city pure and clean. 
With avenues to heaven its walls between. 

Gentle, but strong and just. 
He holds his vote a sacred gift and trust. 
And every neighbor's sacred as his own, 

Not bossed, or bought, or sold 
For bribe of public place or private gold. 
He knows his public duty, will not shirk 

His burden of public work : 
Public Affairs his pleasure, study, pride 
Rightly to know and not ignore but guide, 
Not leaving to ignorant, faithless hands to rule 
City and court and school. 
He gives his hand and heart 



14 ODE FOR THE 

To make a sacred shrine the voting-place, 

Not a foul huckster's mart, — 
Where woman, if she please, may use her right 
Inalienable as man's to speak, how still ! 
A still small voice to execute her will, 
And go with son or sire, without disgrace. 
In Sabbath garments pure and dedicate 

To home and child and State, 
Even as at church to share their sacrament, 
Guarding her world-old sphere beneficent 

And share of government. 
He builds for others, not for himself alone. 
Not only for himself and for his own, 
And gladdens with all good that comes to all, 

Wherever it befall. 
So the House Beautiful the poor man's home shall 
be. 

In that far, better day, 

(Is it so far away ?) 

The day we may not see. 

Save only in prophecy, 



CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL 7$ 

When, standing like that City on a Hill, 

With few or peer or mate. 
She shall be seen afar and known of all, 
Our City Beautiful — Forest City still, 
The seaside Capital 
Of our proud Forest State ! 



ODE 

WRITTEN FOR THE OPENING OF THE MUSIC HALL ^ AT CIN- 
CINNATI, ON THE OCCASION OF THE MAY FESTIVAL, 1 8 78 



T70R ministries benign, 

Complete, behold the gracious Temple stands, 
Whose stately walls full, fortune-sowing hands 
(Praise for the gift to the large-giving heart !) 
Have builded in our eager Western mart. 

Denying Traffic's greed and Mammon's shrine. 

II 

To what civic Good or Grace 

Shall we dedicate the Place ? 
— To Art and Industry, in friendly strife 

Brightening and blessing life : 
To smiling Toil, electric-fingered Skill 

1 The gift of certain leading citizens to the city. 
16 



THE CINCINNATI MUSIC HALL 17 

(Aladdin's light bidding by the huge bondman done, 

Dream-sandaled, tireless, still) : 

To quick Invention's prompt device, 

With mechanism airy-nice. 

That, like the old fireside sprite. 
Makes the wan maiden's task-work playful-brief, 
Letting her sleep by night : 

To all that lathe and loom produce : 

To Flora's garland, Ceres' sheaf. 

And every fruit of soil and sun 

(With the blithe vineyard's temperate juice) : 

To Sculpture's breathless-breathing charm, 

And Painting's mirror soft and warm : 
To each fair muse and every household grace : 

To Use and Beauty bound in one — 
We dedicate the Place ! 
But first, to her, the Muse of Music, her 
Whose speech all spirits in earth and heaven know 
(The native tongue of each far-sundered nation), 
The loftiest, lowliest human minister, 

Exalting pleasure, soothing woe, — 



l8 ODE FOR OPENING OF 

With heart, and voice, and organ's vast elation, 
To her shall be its consecration. 



Ill 
From the wide doors of their rapt dwelling-places 
(Whence ever-newly come their songs below. 

And whither, hence, they go). 
Look, what high guests attend our happy rite. 
With earth - woven wreaths but sphere - enchanted 
faces, — 
The Masters of Delight ! 
— First he, of the elder days, 
Whom the great organ owns 
With its vast-bosomed, earth-shaking, heaven-reach- 
ing tones, 
(Let the proud servant throb his loftiest praise !) 
Next he, who built the mighty symphonies. 
One for each muse, who, chaunting joy and peace, 
Thrills us with awe and yearning infinite. 
Picturing divine repose, love's world - embracing 
height ! 



THE CINCINNATI MUSIC HALL 19 

Then he, whose noblest strain 
Brings Orpheus back to quicken earth again, 
To conquer darkness and the dread under-powers, 
Charming lost love from the deep doors of Hell. 
And lo, the choral master, highest in fame 
(A thousand voices lift to greet him well), 
Who breathes sure faith through these frail hearts 
of ours ! 
And many another well-beloved name. 
Ay, many another, comes with these, 
Star-like, with spheral harmonies : — 
Welcome each and all. 
To our festal Hall ; 
Long be its music-lifted dome 
For their abiding souls the transient home. 

IV 

Hark ! as if the morning-stars were singing 
O'er the first glad Six Days' Task divine — 

What rapturous sounds are these 

Of quickening ecstasies ! 



/ 



20 ODE FOR OPENING OF 

Earth, from her dark spell-bound slumber break- 
ing, 

To the sun's far-journeyed kiss awaking, 
Lo, the blissful palpitation 
Of the newly-warmed creation ! 
With a myriad mingling voices 
All the electric air rejoices ; 
All about, beneath, above, 
Rings the tender note of love ; 
Everywhere, around are heard 
Fountain-laughter, song of bird, 
Insect-murmur, wild-bee's hum, 
Bleat of flock and low of kine ; — 
Airs of new-born Eden bringing. 
With her lilting, light-heart lay, 
Dancing, singing, 
May is come ! — 
Open doors and let in May ! 
Let Nature's full delight 

Join with our banded joy, and crown our gracious 
rite! 



THE CINCINNATI MUSIC HALL 21 

V 

To this fair civic Hall, 
Year after year, 
New multitudes in many another May 
Shall throng, repeating the bright festival 

We celebrate to-day. 
With happy rites to peace and culture dear ; 
Nor absent be our city's Patron then, 

In spirit, nor absent now — 
Commending loftier-lowlier ways, 
The still, clear plainness of heroic days : 
He after whom the founders, putting by 
Swords wherewith late their sacred rights were won 
(Associates they and friends of Washington), 
And, building here in the fierce wilderness, 

Beneath the Indian sky, 
The home we love and ask of Heaven to bless, 
Called it for him, the soldier-citizen. 

The Roman at his plough ! 



FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN 



HIS LETTER ADDRESSED TO THE EDITOR OF " THE SCIOTO 
GAZETTE : " READ BY APPOINTMENT, AT THE ANNUAL 
CONVENTION OF THE OHIO VALLEY EDITORIAL ASSOCIA- 
TION, AT CHILLICOTHE, OHIO, JUNE 12, 1 87 4 

CAN'T come, Bond ; I wish I could, but no — I 



cannot come ; 



Maria ('twill be our seventh boy) — yes, I must stay 
at home. 

But — well, I '11 rub my glasses, just, and write a line 

or two. 
Though little I can say, I guess, that you '11 think 

strange or new. 

My glasses I must rub a bit — queer things have 

taken place 
Since first, a raw apprentice here, I took my stand 

and case. 

22 



FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN 23 

I 'd read the " Life of Franklin," then, a ten-year 

country boy, 
And got my father's leave, so loath, to learn great 

Ben's employ. 

That 's sixty years come April next — not very long, 

I think ; 
But, Lord ! what light has shone abroad since then 

through printer's ink ! 

My old hand-press, though twenty years disused, I 

keep it yet — 
*T would take a week to-day on it to print this week's 

" Gazette." 

Yes, the old hand-press twenty years a good-for- 
nothing 's been. 

Yet in my hand I sometimes feel the lever-spring 
thump again ; 

And sometimes too, asleep, I seem once more a 

slender lad 
Behind it, with the inky task so long ago I had. 



24 FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN 

Puff, puff ! — buzz, buzz ! — whiz, whiz ! — all *s busy 

now : steam, wheels, and fire ! 
Click, click ! another crazy sound — that Hebrew of 

the wire ! 

— Think of it ! th' Alleghanies, then, it took a 

week to cross ; 
The news from Washington grew old ; — well, now 

't were no great loss ! 

Ohio then was the Far West — long since *t has 

farther gone : 
Now, Lord! to get out West, it's queer, you run 

into the dawn ! 

The grand old woods they howled with wolves, the 

roads were sloughs forlorn, 
And Cincinnati Deacon Smith and Halstead 

were n't born ! 

The mails on horseback took their time to cross the 
wilderness : 



FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN 25 

Paper was hauled a hundred miles before it got to 
press. 

Hows' ever, those were good old times — we 'd giants 

in those days, 
And such a plant as honesty 'twas not so hard to 

raise. 

Things were a long sight better, Bond — we 'd 

patriots fit to quote ; 
In courts opinions weren't bought; the Lobby 

did n't vote. 

We 're fallen on evil days, I think there 's something 

ails the sun : ^ 
(We want some money, that 's a fact, and something 

must be done !) 

The press was manlier then ; it had a soul to call 
its own, 

1 An expression of the day — a season of unusual heat with nota- 
ble sun-spots. 



26 FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN 

For corporations not tongue-tied — those bodies that 
have none. 

Free passes then were things unknown ; they let us 

nowadays 
On any shaky railroad line — well, they go "a — 

long — ways." 

Bond, say a word or two for me — say I'm with 

Halstead there ; 
Had I to Chillicothe come, by George ! I 'd paid my 

fare. 

(That is, if this here annual had n't yet a while to 

run — 
Yet, hang it, if I think next year I '11 ask another 

one!) 

But, pshaw ! what use in talking more .? I stopped 
my press to write ; 



FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN 27 

The form is waiting in its bed. Respects to Put.^ 
Good-night. 

N. B. — Sub rosa^ Bond, my boy — can't you make 

Congress see 
Why papers through the county mail should travel 

postage-free } 
1 Mr. Putnam, another Editor at Chillicothe. 



THE BOYS IN BLUEi 



TWO PROCESSIONS 



/^^ ARFIELD, not only these do vote for you, 
^■^ Not only these, survivors tried and true, 
Vote as they fought, the loyal Boys in Blue : 



Not only these, who bore through shot and shell 
The flag whose tatters keep their story well 
(New hands upheld it when the old bearers fell). 

Another mighty host comes marching slow 

From their long bivouacs in the grass and snow — 

By these they fought and suffered long ago. 

1 A great political demonstration of the Grand Army of the Re- 
public at Cincinnati, a few nights before, and in favor of the elec- 
tion of General Garfield as President of the United States. 

28 



THE BOYS IN BLUE 29 

Through every street they march with silent tread, 
(Quicken the living, ye the Living Dead !) — 
Look, the same tattered flag is overhead ! 

What captains lead them ! — names well-kept as won. 
(Lincoln looks down, as often he has done, 
To see their marching-past, at Washington : 

He votes with them and these.) — The tried and true, 
They vote ; the dead, as living, vote for you, — 
Vote, Garfield, as they fought, the Boys in Blue ! 



THE OLD PIANO'S PLAYER 

AT A COUNTRY HOUSE IN OHIO 

TT stands here in the empty house. . . . What 

dream-wrought tones are these ! 
Her fingers from the Past are reached, and wake 

the enchanted keys. 

Lo, shapes of grace, an eager group, about her lightly 

press : — 
What pulses music-quickened beat ! O eyes of 

tenderness ! 

Sweet-hearted songs arise from sleep. The spell of 

Youth and Love 
Warms long-hushed lips again with speech : old 

dreams to music move. 
30 



THE OLD PIANO'S PLAYER 3 1 

Yes, the gay hearts are ashes now, responsive long 

ago. . . . 
To phantom fingers on the keys lost voices ebb and 

flow! 



JENNY'S WAY TO HONORS 

AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT: PANHANDLE RAILWAY 

A WANDERING child by the railway goes, — 
Her nameless name now the wide world 
knows. 

She sees where the crawling flames of drought 
Have sapped the bridge with its timbers stout. 

' A cablegram from Indianapolis, Indiana, dated May 30, states 
that Jenny Carey, ten years old, living with her parents at Munksford, 
has just received the medal of the French Legion of Honor for sav- 
ing a train on the Panhandle Railway, laden with over seven hundred 
passengers, bound for the World's Fair at Chicago, last summer. 
While walking along the line, she discovered that a trestle bridge 
across a deep ravine was on fire, and had become impassable. She 
thereupon took off her red flannel petticoat, ran along the track to 
meet the express then nearly due, and as it came in sight waved her 
petticoat as a signal of danger, causing the driver to stop the train. 
Among the passengers were several Frenchmen, who on returning to 
France brought the child's remarkable action to the notice of Presi- 
dent Carnot, with the result mentioned above. 

London, June, 1894. 

32 



JENNY'S WAY TO HONOR 33 

The trestle bridge o'er the deep ravine 
Burning, and soon it will fall, she has seen. 

The World' s-Fair Express is rushing near, — 
Its far-drawn thunder she soon must hear. 

Seven hundred lives are its priceless freight, — 
What harvest of Death if her sign be late ! . . . 

But the driver sees her ! She ran to meet 
The roaring train with her brown bare feet. 

Swiftly she hurried along the track. 
Flagging the flying earthquake back ! 

" Danger before ! " — The driver saw, 
While brake and throttle obeyed his law, 

A little girl waving her petticoat red. 
Like the Terror-signal of France, ahead. 



34 JENNY'S WAY TO HONOR 

The long train, shuddering, stood still. (Half seen 
In a blur of smoke lay the dread ravine.) 

Seven hundred lives were its priceless freight, — 
What harvest of Death were her flag too late ! . . . 

Honor to France, that honors her deed 
With its highest tribute, the nation's meed ! 

She saved the lives of many, — by chance 
With these were grateful sons of France. 

Her Errand of Mercy shines far with fame, — 

In the Legion of Honor France writes her name. . . . 

What deed by gartered knight of old 
Fitter to picture in Book of Gold } 

Paint me the mighty train, — shall it speed 
To its doom .? — what help at its utmost need ? 

A little girl waving her petticoat red, 
Like the Terror-signal of France, ahead ! 



T 



HALF-LIVES 

I 
WO were they, two ; — but one 

They might have been. Each knew 
The other's spirit fittest mate, apart. 
Ah, hapless ! though once jealous fortune drew 
Them almost heart to heart, 
In a brief-lighted sun. 

II 
So near they came, and then — they are 
So far ! 
They seemed like two who pass 
Each on a world-long journey opposite. 
Their two trains hurrying dark 
With far-drawn roar through the dread deeps of 
night, 

35 



36 HALF-LIVES 

(Oh, faces close — they almost touched, alas ! 
Oh, hands that might have thrilled with meeting 
spark ! 

Oh, lips that might have kissed ! 

Oh, eyes with folded sight. 

Dreaming some vision bright !) 

In mystery and in mist. 



A BOY ON GAMBIER HILL 

THE RHYME OF AN OLD FRESHMAN, ADDRESSED TO A 
MIDDLE-AGED ALUMNUS : READ IN RESPONSE TO A TOAST 
AT A BANQUET GIVEN TO HON. STANLEY MATTHEWS, AS- 
SOCIATE JUSTICE OF THE UNITED STATES SUPREME COURT, 
BY HIS BROTHER ALUMNI OF KENYON COLLEGE, AT CIN- 
CINNATI, JUNE 21, 1 88 1 

'T^HE elm is green and glad in leaf — 

'T is June ; the season 's come again 
(Ah, homesick Memory's idle grief !) 

When first I took the flying train, 
Fledged from the fond home nest. Renewed 

Mix my dull pang, my eager thrill. 
'T was morn ; when evening fell I stood 

A boy on Gambler Hill. 

What dreams of young ambition bold 

Stirred my light blood with wings of pride ! 

Webster yet spake. Clay was not cold, 
And — there were orators untried ! 
37 



38 A BOY ON GAMBIER HILL 

Old Kenyon's Genius pointed, far, 
Her sons elect to cross and crown : — 
" This wears the soldier's shoulder-star,^ 
And this the Judge's gown." 

The Freshman, my old friend, you knew 

(His case, I think, was somewhat hard), 
Remained an Under-Graduate ; you 

Passed an alumnus, happier-starred. 
Ah, half a life-time lies between 

(The rocket sparkled : here's the stick) ; 
I know, yes, yes, what might have been — 

A thought that cuts the quick ! 

— Arma virumque cano : Lo, 

" Small Latin " — mine 's not far to seek ; 
Menin ae'idi^ Thea, (so 

Homer begins — and ends ?) — " less Greek ! " 
Well, let me rest content : if you 

Sucked her full milk, impute no crime ; 

1 General R. B. Hayes, President of the United States, an invited 
guest, not present. 



A BOY ON GAMBIER HILL 39 

She was my Alma Mater too — 
Mine, weaned before my time ! . . . 

Where are the boys, the boys we knew ? 

Let 's call some names. Ah me, grave men, 
No doubt, shall answer. *' Old boys .? " True. 

(Some showed, d' you mind, " the Old Boy " then !) 
Where'er ye wander, wide apart 

On life's rough road, or flowery track, 
O fresh of face, O blithe of heart, 

Come back, come back, come back ! 

Good flesh and blood, I know, some still 

Draw vital air, with flower and fruit. 
As when we fought on Gambler Hill 

The war of Troy, and Ilium fuit. 
Ho, Holland ! (English church-doors, " Here ! " 

Echo — warm friend, and Irish bard !) ^ 

1 Rev. Richard George Holland, a native of Cork, having gradu- 
ated from Kenyon College in 1856, studied for the English Church 
at St. Adian's, Liverpool, was a curate at Faversham, in London, at 
Canterbury, etc., and, unknown to me, died, ten years before the date 
of these verses, at Limerick. He was an eloquent preacher and a 
good writer in both prose and verse. 



40 A BOY ON GAMBIER HILL 

Ho, Chapman, Romans, Sterling ! (clear 
Each answers) — ho, Tunnard ! 

— " We younger brood are getting gr — " Eh ? 

(Speak for yourself, John !) Nonsense ! — well. 
We are not growing younger. Nay, 

Fear not the wholesome truth to tell. 
In fresher hearts our pulses beat, 

Our spent dreams grow and quicken still — 
Ay, boys of ours may each repeat 

The old boy on Gambier Hill. 

Our joys in them may spring again, 

Our boyish griefs have ebb and flood ; 
They, too, shall take the flying train 

With quick wings fluttering in their blood ; 
Old Kenyon's Genius point them, far. 

Her sons elect to cross and crown : — 
** This wore the soldier's shoulder-star, 

And this the Judge's gown." 



CLIO IN THE CAPITOL 

SEEN AT SUNSET FROM THE LIBRARY WINDOW 
OPPOSITE 

[Franzoni's Clock, with the marble sculpture of the Muse of 
History, Clio, listening and writing, upon a winged chariot, — one 
wheel of which, supported by the hemisphere of a globe, is the 
clock-face, — stands over the northern entrance of the Old Hall of 
Representatives, now assigned to the statues and portraits of our 
great public men at Washington. Through the centre of this Old 
Hall is the passage from the Rotunda of the Capitol toward the 
present Hall of Representatives.] 

TTERE, looking down, I see her Grecian grace, 

With the still halo of the last, low ray, 
Motionless, beautiful, in the Sacred Place, 
While the late-jarring footstep floats away. 

Lo, on the winged chariot where she stands ! — 
(Its hurrying wheel notes the quick hour's hushed 
flight. 
The half -globe beneath it) — in her patient hands 
The open book, the pen applied to write ! 
41 



42 CLIO IN THE CAPITOL 

In the Old Hall the men have changed to ghosts 
Whom erst she marked — who marked her not, 
perchance, — 

And there below, for those long-vanished hosts, 
Show marble shape and pictured countenance. 

Daily across yon floor, long since so loud 

With partial schemes and strifes of public breath, 

To the New Hall new-jostling statesmen crowd 
Through that White Congress of undying death. 

Men of the Past ! your word her pages show — 
She heard, she saw, she knew you there, indeed ! 

Oh, ye New-Comers, eddying to and fro. 
Behold the still Recorder, and take heed ! 

There she remains, with listening face and pen 
Ready to give the patriot's deathless dower : 

Look ! — living, speaking, acting, passing men ! — 
The Eternal Present on her Flying Hour ! 



ANARCHY 

T~^READ is the hour when giant Mob, mad child 

of Liberty, 
Blows his volcanic trumpet-blast, and shakes the 

land and sea. 



Not when Pompeii danced or dreamed, with spasms 

and groans of earth 
Sprang fiercer light, rushed darker night, to quench 

her moans and mirth. 

The hurricane, that holds its breath a century in 

mid-air. 
Breathes palace -gates and castle -walls away like 

gossamer. 

43 



44 ANARCHY 

Murder usurps the judgment-seat, while Justice 

writhes in prison, — 
Lo, from the corpse of Government its soul, the law, 

has risen ! 



AN ANGEL WITH A BROOM 
(in the house beautiful) 



A DUTCH PICTURE 

A SLEEP, I had a dream : 
Awake, as it did seem, — 
While the gold-breathing dawn 
Lit dewy lane and lawn 
V/ithout, and on my wall, 
Within, rose-light did fall, — 
I saw there in my room 
An Angel with a Broom. 
Careful, from side to side. 
Her gentle task she plied ; 
Motes, risen as slant rays streamed, 
A mist of cherubs seemed : 
These, like a halo, wore 
45 



46 AN ANGEL WITH A BROOM 

That Sweeper of my floor. 
— Then I awoke, in sooth. 
To know the happy truth 
How Love, with holy Duty, 
Gives Use its heavenly beauty. 
I saw within my room 
An Angel with a Broom : 
" Pray, what is it you do ? " 
" I keep this House for you." 



OTHO IN THE TOMB OF CHARLEMAGNE 

\ T /"HEN Otho, in the tomb of Charlemagne, 
Faced the gigantic Skeleton, alone 
With orb and sceptre, crowned, upon his 
throne — 
The mighty king who had not ceased to reign — 
Shaken with sudden fear, he saw, instead. 
Death, crowned, with orb and sceptre there, 
and fled ! 

47 



PURPOSE 

OTRONG in thy steadfast purpose, be 
Like some brave master of the sea, 
Whose keel, by Titan pulses quickened, knows 

His will where'er he goes. 
Some isle, palm-roofed, in spiced Pacific air 
He seeks — though solitary zones apart, 
Its place long fixed on his deep-studied chart. 
Fierce winds, your wild confusion make ! 
Waves, wroth with tide and tempest, shake 
His iron-wrought hull aside ! 
However driven, to that far island fair 
(His compass not more faithful than his heart) 
He makes his path the ocean wide — 
His prow is always there ! 
48 



TO MY FATHERS 

ON HIS EIGHTY-FOURTH BIRTHDAY 

TF I could grace your name with fitting verse, 
To-day, you are eighty-four, should prompt to 
write, — 
The frost of all those years upon your head. 
Their flower (and not less white) within your breast. 
Here, far-off, sitting by an exile's fire. 
While dull November sows the dark with rain, 
(All this loud sea, all that wide land between !) 
My blood beats quick, my heart is proud, to hold 
That our great Country, which to make and keep 
Your sire and your sire's sire each gave his life. 
And you, if need had been, a soldier too. 
Had offered yours (as sons of yours have done ; 

1 Then a resident of Montana, hereditary Member o£ the Society of 
the Cincinnati in the State of New Jersey. Ob. June i8, 1893. 

49 



50 TO MY FATHER 

Not I, indeed) — although in private ways 

Your hours, peace-breathing, passed with silent voice 

In homely tasks like his of Roman fame — 

Called never yet a purer patriot son, 

Owned never yet a worthier citizen. 

QUEENSTOWN (CoRK), IRELAND 

November ii, 1889 



THE OLD WOODMAN'S AXE 

IN KENTUCKY 

T AM the old Woodman's axe. His stalwart arm 
(The old Backwoodsman Morgan, his I mean), 
A bloodless but a mighty conqueror's, 
Has swung me long, and look what we have 

wrought : 
The savage wood, the abode of savage men, 
Shrill day and night with roaming beasts of prey, 
Has vanished, shadow-like, with all its shade, — 
And see, instead, what mighty harvest fields. 
Where golden tents of Plenty thickly stand ; 
What flower-sweet meadows fragrant-breathed with 

kine. 
Or tremulous with bleat of new-dropped lambs ; 
And, look ! yon clustered cottage-roofs and spire ! 

51 



FEUDAL TENURE 

ON AN ESTATE NEAR EDINBURGH^ 

A N old estate bestowed on some one dear 

(For love, not gold, Love his best boon be- 
stows), 
The deed provided only — year by year — 
The tenant should make payment of a rose. 

1 Vide Margaret Warrender's Walks Near Edinburgh. 
52 



IRELAND 



A SEASIDE PORTRAIT 



A GREAT, still Shape, alone, 

She sits (her harp has fallen) on the sand, 
And sees her children, one by one, depart : — 
Her cloak (that hides what sins beside her own !) 
Wrapped fold on fold about her. Lo, 
She comforts her fierce heart, 
As wailing some, and some gay-singing go, 
With the far vision of that Greater Land 
Deep in the Atlantic skies, 
St. Brandan's Paradise ! 
Another Woman there. 
Mighty and wondrous fair. 
Stands on her shore-rock : — one uplifted hand 
Holds a quick-piercing light 
That keeps long sea-ways bright ; 
S3 



54 IRELAND 

She beckons with the other, saying " Come, 

O landless, shelterless, 
Sharp-faced with hunger, worn with long distress : 

Come hither, finding home ! 
Lo, my new fields of harvest, open, free. 

By winds of blessing blown. 
Whose golden corn-blades shake from sea to sea - 
Fields without walls that all the people own ! " 

QUEENSTOWN (CoRK), IRELAND 

March, 1883 



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